The Emerald Storm (The Riyria Revelations #4)

“Yes, sir.”


The wind fluttered the sails overhead as the ship began to lose the angle on the wind.

“Lower the long boat,” Seward ordered at last. “Rig it with poles and lanterns.”

“And our heading?”

Seward tapped his lips.

“I shouldn’t need to remind you, Captain Seward,” Thranic said as he climbed the ladder to the quarterdeck, “that it is imperative that we reach the port of Dagastan without delay.”

Seward tapped his lips once more. “Send the long boat aft with a crew of four, have them stroke for their lives toward Wesbaden. The Dacca will think we’ve seen them and will expect us to head that way, but the Storm will maintain its present course. There is to be no light on this ship without my order, and I want absolute silence. Do you hear me? Not a sound.”

“Aye, sir.”

Seward glanced at Wyatt, who shook his head with a look of disgust. The captain ignored him and turned to Bishop. “See to it Mister Bishop.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”





***




“You should have tried for the long boat’s crew,” Wyatt whispered to Hadrian. “We all should have.”

It was still dark but the crescent moon halong since fallen into the sea. As per the captain’s orders, the ship was quiet. The only sound came from the whispers of some of the men who had not returned to their hammocks after the long boat launched. Even the wind died, and the ship rocked motionless and silent in the darkness.

“You don’t have a lot of faith in Seward’s decision?”

“The Dacca are smarter than he is.”

“You’ve got to at least give him the benefit of the doubt. They might think we turned and ran.”

Wyatt muffled a laugh. “If you were captain and decided to make a run for it against faster ships in the dead of night, would you have left the lanterns burning? The lantern ruse only works if they think we haven’t seen them.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Hadrian admitted. “We’ll know soon enough if they took the bait. It’s getting lighter.”

“Where’s Royce and his eagle eyes?” Wyatt asked.

“He went to sleep after his shift. Sleep and eat when you can so you don’t regret it later—something we’ve learned over the years.”

They peered out across the water as the light increased. “Maybe the captain was right,” Hadrian said.

“How do you mean?”

“I don’t see them.”

Wyatt laughed. “You don’t see them because you can’t see anything, not even a horizon. There’s fog on the water. It happens this time of year.”

It grew lighter and Hadrian could see Wyatt was right. A thick gray blanket of clouds surrounded them.

Mister Bishop climbed to the quarterdeck and rapped softly on the captain’s door. “You asked to be awakened at first light, sir,” he whispered The captain came out fully dressed this time, and proudly strode to the bridge.

“Fog, sir.”

The captain scowled at him. “I can see that, Mister Bishop. I’m not blind.”

“No, sir.”

“Send a lad up the main masts with a glass.”

“Mister Wesley,” Bishop called softly and the midshipman came running. “Take this glass to the masthead and report.”

“Aye, sir.”

Captain Seward stood with his hand fidgeting behind his back, rocking on his heels and staring out at the fog. “It at least looks promising so far, doesn’t it, Mister Bishop?”

“It does indeed, sir. The fog will help hide us all the more.”

“What do you think now, helmsman?” the captain asked Wyatt.

“I think I’ll wait for Mister Wesley’s report. If you don’t mind, sir.”

Seward folded his arms in irritation and began to pace, his short legs and plump belly doing little to impart the vision of a commanding figure.

Wesley reached the masthead and extended the glass.

“Well?” Seward called aloud, his impatience getting the better of him.

“I can’t tell, sir. The fog is too thick.”

“They say the Dacca can use magic to raise a fog when they want,” Poe whispered to Hadrian as they watched. “They’re likely using it to sneak up on us.”

“Or maybe it’s just because the air is cooler this morning,” Hadrian replied.

Poe shrugged.

The crew stood around silent and idle for an hour before Mister Temple ordered Hadrian to serve the morning meal. The men ate then wandered the deck in silence, like ghosts in a misty world of white. The midday meal came and went as well, with no break in the mist that continued to envelop them.

Hadrian had just finished cleaning up when he heard Wesley’s voice from the masthead shout, “Sail!”

Emerging from the hold, Hadrian felt a cool breeze as a wind moved the fog, parting the hazy white curtains veil after veil.

The single word left everyone on edge.

“Good Maribor, man!” Seward shouted up. “What kind of sail?”

“Red lateen sails, sir!”

“Damn!” Seward cursed. “How many?”

“Five!”

“Five? Five! How could there be five?”

“No, wait!” Wesley shouted. “Six to windward! And three more coming off the port bow.”

The captain’s face drained of color. “Good Maribor!”

Even as he spoke, Hadrian spotted the sails clustered on the water.

“Orders captain?” Wyatt asked.

Seward glanced around him desperately. “Mister Bishop, lay the ship on the port tack.”

Wyatt shook his head defiantly. “We need to grab the wind.”

“Damn you!” He hesitated only a moment than shouted, “So be it! Hard a port, helmsman. Bring her around, hard over!”

Wyatt spun the wheel, the chains cranking the rudder so that the ship started to turn. Mister Temple barked orders to the crew. The Emerald Storm was sluggish, stalling in the futile wind. The ship slowed to a mere drift. Then the foresail fluttered, billowed, and started to draw. She was coming around slowly. The yards turned as the men ran aft with the lee-braces. The mainsail caught the breeze and blew full. The ship creaked loudly as the masts took up the strain.

The Storm picked up speed and was halfway round and pointed toward the coast. Still, Wyatt held the wheel hard over. The wind pressed the sails and leaned the ship dipping the beam dangerously low. Spray broke over the rail as men grabbed hold of whatever they could to remain standing as the deck tilted steadily upward. The captain glared at Wyatt as he too grabbed hold of the mizzen shroud, yet he held his tongue.